Disillusionment
by Sarcastic Realist
Summary: Why'd he have to be so damned difficult? [HM]


**_A/N: Set after 'Golden Parachute'. HM. Review, please._  
**

**Disillusionment**

She stood silently, letting the ice cold water run over her body and wash away any and all traces of his burning touch on her shoulders and back. She grabbed a washcloth, scrubbing at her wrists until they were red and raw. Cleansing, washing, ridding herself of the guilt that tore at her heart and nauseated her stomach.

Guilt.

Everything around her fell away as her mind drifted back to that afternoon...

It had all been fine up until her touched her. A simple reenactment of a would-be murder up until he placed his hand oh so gently on the small of her back and her heart started hammering painfully in her chest.

_I should have left. I should have tensed up and left before it could have gotten any worse._

But it did.

He spun her around and pushed her against the 'door', restraining her wrists in her strong hands, all the while a full two inches from her face. And then he moved, giving her the space she needed and leaving a pit of dread in her stomach, feeling like it had been on a twisting and turning roller coaster ride.

They argued, bickered, and snipped at each other like children, they crashed at every turn, and yet one touch sent her mind reeling.

She shook her head with disgust and stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a fluffy blue towel and turning off the water. The doorbell rang; she quickly slipped on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and went to open the door.

Irritably reminding himself not to stare, he returned her dark gaze with his own blue one. A coy smirk played at the corners of his lips, causing her to frown.

"What do you want?"

His eyes slid over her like a waterfall, assessing her figure. Her hair hung limply in dripping wet curls plastered to her face, and her skin was still flushed from the heat of the shower. Dark jeans fitted snugly against her legs, whereas her torso was absolutely swallowed by an oversize Harvard sweatshirt. Her feet were bare, and her face was free of all makeup, showing off her natural beauty and glowing skin. And those eyes... He exhaled quickly. He could drown in those eyes, if not lose himself completely. _Get over yourself, Caine, _an inner voice snapped. She was a widow, he knew better.

"What do you want, Horatio?" she repeated, breaking the increasingly heated eye contact.

The smirk disappeared and it was in that split second that he knew.

He was in love with her, and he needed to get away before he did something that they both would regret. He turned around and walked back to his Hummer. He was half-way there before he twisted his head back over his shoulder and spoke.

"Nothing."

She blew out a frustrated breath and slammed the door shut with a groan. Why'd he have to be so damned difficult?

She sagged against the door, half-relieved that he was gone, half-hoping that he'd come back.

Emotions swirled around in her head, and she sank to the floor, arms wrapped around her legs tucked into her chest. Guilt, terror, nausea, pride, sadness, anger, frustration, irrationality... she was going to go crazy.

A knock at the door made her jump. Hauling herself to her feet, she opened the door and was met with his cerulean blue eyes on her yet again. She blinked. She could drown in those eyes, even lose herself in them completely.

They said nothing for a long minute, holding their staring contest until he broke the silence, leaning forward so their noses nearly bumped, sending a jolt of electricity through her veins.

"Are you okay?"

His lips moved, but she heard nothing, so she simply gave a tiny nod.

There was no need for him to answer; his eyes spoke volumes, leaving her confused and dizzy, world spinning.

As if a magnetic force was pulling at his hand, he reached out almost involuntarily and brushed a dark curl out of her equally dark eyes.

She drew in a quick breath, forcing words to come out of her mouth. Something, anything.

"See you later?"

His eyes were sad, clouded over by hurt, and what? Rejection? And so he turned, walking away from her porch, her, and her life. Forever.

"Will do."


End file.
